


Foreword to The Line Between Genius and Madness

by Ghosts_Writer



Series: The line between genius and madness [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Person, M/M, foreword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:05:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghosts_Writer/pseuds/Ghosts_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's foreword to his book</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreword to The Line Between Genius and Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe you've noticed the slightly weird writing style of the series. Here's the explanation why. I meant to wait for the sixth installment but decided on this as I wanted to write short ones in between the cases. So, here it is.

Foreword

“Hi, my name is John.”

This is how you usually start in group therapy, right? Well, while I held many such sessions, I must admit that it never was my thing. Obviously, this was something my own therapist had to learn the hard way. Anyway, as usual I’m getting ahead of myself.

My publicist asked me to write a foreword to accompany this book and well, what can I say? He said to write something about myself, so the readers know who I am. It does seem redundant to me, seeing that probably most of the people to buy my book know who I am or they wouldn’t buy it in the first place. 

So, something about myself, here goes. My name is John Watson, I’m currently 41 years old, living in London, Great Britain. I’ve studied medicine at St. Barts hospital and joined the Royal Army as a surgeon. I’m a veteran of Afghanistan, rendered useless for the OR by a tremor in my left (dominant) hand caused by either the bullet I took to my left shoulder or the PTSD, neither neurologists nor psychiatrist either confirmed or disproved either options completely. After my dismiss I changed specialties to psychiatry. I returned to St. Barts before I moved on to greener pastures (there’s a euphemism, ey?). I am currently on sick leave (probably to be unemployed once I return).

Well, so far no good reason to keep on reading, is there? If you think you’ve bought the book of a bitter man past his prime already, beware, the worst is yet to come.

As most of you probably know, about two years ago I met a man. Sherlock Holmes was his name and through his deductive skills and my blog together we’ve reached a certain level of fame. We gathered a rather large fanbase and I am here to confirm what most people already assume. 

Sherlock and I were not just flatmates. We weren’t just colleagues. I wasn’t just his blogger or his assistant. 

We were best friends. We were lovers. We were partners. 

For two years we shared everything. A bed, a bathroom, our love.

The man I loved is dead.

So, why am I here, typing? Well, reason number one, apparently writing is the go-to method of my therapist. When I was invalided she told me to write a blog. I did. Now that I can’t possibly continue my blog she told me to write about Sherlock. Again. The told me to write about what didn’t make it into the blog. To write about what made him the man I loved, what made our relationship to the best relationship I ever had, and probably ever will have. She told me to write it all down, everything I loved about him, everything I hated about him. Get it all out of my system and maybe find peace.

You will notice that the stories are written in a third person perspective. This, also, is my therapist’s fault. She told me to write in third person to gain distance. As if writing John instead of me would make me forget that I once was that man living that life. Well, no one can say I didn’t try. 

Reason number two is actually the reason why you’re reading this, rather than the reason why I’m writing it. One month after Sherlock’s death - exactly on the day, I kid you not - I had several letters in my mailbox. Apparently one month was the agreed upon decent amount of time for publicists to wait to make an offer to a mourner to write a book about their lost one. 

In the end I went with the publicist that waited three months to make an offer and here I am. And if you think I’m a bad person to use my therapeutic writing to make a bit of money so I’ll be able to stay in our flat for a while longer before I can’t afford it anymore, sue me. 

Obviously I cannot publish any and all stories about me and Sherlock for several reasons. I decided on six cases and some random moments in between. The first was our first, the case we met. The second is the one that brought us together. The third brought us our biggest enemy. The fourth was a test for our relationship. The fifth a test for our mental stability. The sixth...the sixth case is the one that took him away from me.

As I mentioned at the beginning, my therapist tried to send me to group therapy. Obviously she did so when I returned from Afghanistan and it really is one of the most popular methods in psychiatry. Needless to say, it ended badly. Now, when I returned to her 18 months after our last appointment, she didn’t offer the option of group therapy for people that lost a loved one. 

Read the book and you’ll understand that there’s no group in this world that could relate to what I went through.


End file.
